Beauty & the Biker

by Beth Ciotta

  Sliding on her sunglasses, Bella settled into the passenger seat and, as always, battled claustrophobia. Not that she’d ever complain, but the sports car was ridiculously small. Who cared if it was cute and fast? There was no wiggle room. At least today the top was down. “I really appreciate this.”

  “You say that every time I give you a lift to and from work,” Angel said as she pulled back onto the street. “You really need to stop. Seriously. Stop. Your place—”

  “Dad’s place.”

  “—is on my way home. It’s not an imposition. How was work?”

  “Good. Same. Except for Carson’s unexpected visit.”

  “The man is persistent.”

  “Only his approach was different this time. He homed in on dad. Said he needs professional help.”

  Angel didn’t say anything, which was as good as agreeing. Or maybe she was considering the best response. Angel rarely spoke without thinking, unlike Emma and Georgie who often blurted whatever came to mind. Chrissy was more stingy with her opinions but when she voiced them she was usually blunt. Not that anyone had commented at length on her dad’s drinking or Bella’s decision to move home.

  Not for the first time, she felt like her friends had been walking on egg-shells ever since her mom’s death. She just wanted life to go back to normal, although how could it? Her life had been altered—along with everyone who’d loved Laura Mooney.

  Bella clutched her bag to her knotting stomach. “If he’d just talk to me…”

  “He will. Eventually.” Angel flexed her fingers on the wheel, pressed her lips together as she turned onto Frontier Street.

  “Whatever you’re thinking, spit it out. I can take it.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “Give me a sec.” Angel held silent while blowing past most of the stores lining the street, a third of them deserted. Nowhere had been dying a slow death for the last twenty years. Younger generations kept moving away to explore more exciting and viable locations. Years ago, the Inseparables had made a pact to stay in Nowhere, working in their own unique way to keep their beloved town alive. They’d been kids then and they were all still here. With the exception of Sinjun Ashe. Although they had recently reconnected with their long lost friend via Party-Line. Ah, the wonders of social networking.

  “Okay. Here goes,” Angel said, yanking Bella out of the past as she smoked the town’s limits. “And please don’t take this the wrong way. I know you lost your mom,” she said, raising her voice as they roared into the wind, “and that’s a God tragic blow. Especially since you were so close. But your dad lost his soul mate, his wife, lover, and friend. They’d been married how long?”

  “Thirty-five years.”

  “That’s a long time. Eddie and I barely made our third anniversary before I lost him, but we’d been sweethearts since the sixth grade so it seemed like we’d been together for a lifetime. And then Baxter, well that was a different kind of love and we only made it two years, but, if he had lived, I just know we would have been together forever. Anyway, even though the intensity of the grief varied, I can honestly say there is no greater heartache than losing a beloved spouse. At least none that I’ve experienced.”

  “So you’re saying Dad’s hurting more than me?”

  “I’m saying it’s a different kind of pain. One he may not feel comfortable discussing with his daughter.”

  “So you’re agreeing with Carson. You think Dad should see someone. Like a grief counselor.”

  “Maybe he just needs more time. And space.”

  Why did the latter feel like an insult? Bella shoved her wind tossed hair from her eyes and angled toward her friend. She wanted to change the subject, to sidestep what felt like an oncoming dose of tough love, but she’d sworn she could take it. And to be honest, she was curious. “Go on.”

  Angel cleared her throat. “Remember how you and the girls kept checking in on me after Eddie? After Baxter? Comforting me? Caring for me? “

  “I remember you telling us that you needed to stand on your own two feet.”

  “I could have leaned on you forever. Happily. Both times. But then I never would have healed. I needed to be okay with being alone. With taking care of myself.”

  “You think I’m hindering Dad’s recovery by living at home?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you think it.”

  “I’ve known Archie Mooney all my life, Bella.” She glanced over as they whizzed by the Morgan Ranch. “He’s a good man. A strong man. More than capable of picking up the pieces of his jumbled life. Except…”

  “I’m slowing the process. Enabling him to wallow in his grief.” She thought about how she’d stepped into her mom’s shoes. Cooking and cleaning for him. Making sure he kept up with the bills and banking. Always asking how he was and what she could do for him.

  “You mean well,” Angel said. “But why should he get on with his life when you’re not getting on with yours?”

  Bella saw it then. Her true impetus for moving home. To cling to the past. To her mom. The reason she’d handled the loss of her mom better than her dad was because she’d never accepted the permanence of the situation.

  “I didn’t hurt your feelings, did I?”

  “No,” Bella said honestly. “But I do feel bad. Selfish and, ugh, cowardly.”

  “Don’t. There’s not a selfish or cowardly bone in your body, my friend. We all deal with loss in our own way. There’s no right or wrong. But there does come a time when we have to let go and move on.”

  Bella nodded, her mind racing nearly as fast as her pulse. She looked away, focusing on the passing landscape. Tough love. Time to move out. Time to give her dad incentive to pull it together, to create his new life without his daughter breathing down his neck and making him feel like a fragile, screw-up.

  She could always impose on one of the Inseparables while she shopped for new accommodations, but somehow that felt like a cop out. She palmed her phone, intending to research real estate options, but got distracted by an email. A reply from ImpossibleDream.com.

  Considering her elaborate request, she hadn’t expected to hear back so soon. Bracing for a rejection, she opened the note and stared. “I don’t believe it.”

  “What?” Angel asked.

  “This can’t be for real.”

  “What can’t be for real?”

  “You’ll think I’m crazy.”

  “No. But you’re making me crazy. What is it? What’s wrong?”

  Every time she thought her life couldn’t get more complicated, more weirdly unpredictable and shocking—it did. Heart pounding, Bella looked at her friend. “Have you ever heard of an Internet site called Impossible Dream?”

  “No.”

  “You apply for something—a job, a trip, a home—something beyond your immediate scope, something you think is unattainable.”

  “Impossible dream,” Angel said. “Got it. I take it you applied. But for what?”

  “A dream partner.”

  She grinned. “What, like Prince Charming?”

  “Sort of. I mean, I did list some romantic qualities. Couldn’t help myself. But mostly I focused on an artist who could augment my stories with magical illustrations.” Bella flashed her phone. “They just wrote me back.”

  “With suggestions? Portfolios? Profiles? Names?”

  “Just one name.”

  Angel glanced over, eyebrows high above her dark sunglasses.

  “You won’t believe it. I don’t believe it.”

  “For God’s sake Bella. Who?”

  “Joe Savage.”

  Chapter Seven

  An ocean of water couldn’t wash away the grime of Joe’s existence these last few years. Nevertheless he braced his hands on the shower tiles and bowed his head, his tension easing as hot water pounded his shoulders.

  He’d been working in the barn, his converted studio, gathering various boxes he’d tagged for Bella to sort through. Even th
ough Archie had worked off what he owed, Joe still had a deal with the man’s daughter. He didn’t need her help renovating the house, but he did want her company. She’d invaded his dreams, suffused his psyche. In spite of Archie warning Joe off, Bella was a sweet temptation he ached to explore. An innocent he wanted to protect. Instead of breaking their deal, which involved a date, he’d adopted a contingency plan. A project that didn’t involve great heights or power tools, but would require Bella’s presence.

  Unfortunately, that project had instigated what had felt dangerously close to a panic attack. He’d stepped away—distance. Shut down his mind—denial. He’d left Killer circling the stacked boxes of photographs while he’d fled to the house, desperate to wash away the shitty feeling that polluted his soul.

  He soaped and rinsed and steamed and focused on something good.

  Bella.

  Aware that she’d be arriving soon, Joe’s pulse quickened as he toweled off and dressed. When his phone chimed, he answered mid-ring anticipating a rainbow. Expecting a cancellation. “Hello?”

  “Mr. Savage.”

  He didn’t recognize the voice—male—or the number. “Who’s calling?”

  “Sheriff Ryan McClure of the Dawes County Sheriff’s Office. I’d like a word, if you don’t mind.”

  “About?”

  “Open your gate and I’ll tell you face-to-face.”

  Joe moved to his bedroom window, parted the curtain. He noted the official police truck and the uniformed man leaning against its hood.

  Tall, lean, fit, and official.

  The sheriff glanced up, touched the brim of his cowboy hat in greeting.

  “Be right down.” Joe disconnected, shoved his phone in his pocket, and moved downstairs. “What the hell?” he muttered to Killer as he hit the porch.

  Raking his damp hair off of his face, he crossed the newly mowed lawn wondering what had prompted this visit. He didn’t know McClure. He didn’t want to know McClure or anyone having anything to do with the local, county, state, or damned federal law. He unlocked the gate, but instead of inviting the man inside, Joe approached the truck. “Sheriff McClure.”

  “Mr. Savage.”

  They shook hands then parted.

  Joe stuffed his fingers in his rear pockets.

  McClure lazed against the truck.

  They sized each other up and Joe knew in an instant that he was dealing with a sharp man. A fumbling yokel would have been preferable. “This an official visit?”

  “Yes and no.” McClure thumbed up the brim of his hat. “If I’d known you were a fellow officer, I would’ve extended a welcome sooner.”

  “Former officer.” He assumed his history would come to light sooner or later. But, damn, he’d been hoping for never.

  “Fourteen years with the Chicago Police Department. Assigned to the Bureau of Organized Crime. One of their top undercover detectives. Impressive record. What I could learn of it.”

  “Any reason you’re sniffing around my past, Sheriff?”

  “None of my business why you resigned—”

  “Agreed.”

  “But if it has something to do with your last investigation, if you distanced yourself from Chicago to distance yourself from some nasty bastards with a vendetta, that’s potentially my business.”

  “Worried I’ll entice a criminal element to Nowhere?”

  “The thought crossed my mind.”

  Joe shifted, considered. He couldn’t blame a shepherd for protecting his flock. “I don’t foresee an issue.”

  “But if you suspect trouble—”

  “You’ll be the first to know.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  Joe nodded, but instead of taking his leave, McClure stood his ground.

  “Anything else?”

  “Heard you struck a deal with Bella Mooney.”

  Hell.

  “She’s a sweet girl. One of my sister’s closest friends. I’m fond of Bella and I’m not alone.”

  Joe folded his arms, cocked his head.

  “Screw with her and I’ll kick your ass.”

  The forthright threat earned Joe’s instant respect.

  McClure pushed off the hood and set to leave. “That sex trafficking investigation,” he said, proving he knew far more than Joe was comfortable with. “Must have been hell.”

  He had no idea.

  Chapter Eight

  Bella had every intention of cooking her dad’s dinner before driving over to Rootin’ Tootin’ Funland. But by the time Angel dropped her at home, the plan changed. It wasn’t a full-fledged, detailed plan, but it was a start.

  Angel drove off and Bella stood on the front lawn staring at the house she’d grown up in. A house filled with memories. A house filled with her mom. No. The memory of her mom.

  Every night for the last few months, every time Bella walked into that house, she expected to see her effervescent, homemaking hero. A petite blond with a bob haircut and a weakness for vanilla-scented bath products and leather or fleece clogs—depending on the season. “Easy to kick off,” she’d say since half the time she preferred bare feet. Archie used to comment on how shoes belonged in a closet and not under tables or beside the sofa. Now every once in a while Bella would find his shoes abandoned next to his recliner, an unconscious homage to Laura.

  Bella acknowledged the missing chunk of her heart as she moved toward the porch. She wouldn’t find her mom in the kitchen cooking beef stew or at her sewing machine stitching a new quilt. She wouldn’t bump into her in the hall or trip over her clogs.

  Laura Mooney had moved on.

  Bella imagined her mom looking down from heaven, tapping her bare foot in a celestial cloud, waiting for her husband and daughter to move on as well. As if she couldn’t enjoy her new adventure until they’d embarked on one of their own.

  And that, combined with Carson’s irritating persistence, was the final nudge that pushed Bella into revising her plan for the immediate future.

  Shoulders bolstered, she shoved through the screen door. “Dad?”

  “In here.” He backed out of the downstairs bathroom, drying his hands on a grease-stained towel. He must have been in the garage, working on the riding mower or some other project. She loved that he’d been tinkering. He had a gift with engines although he hadn’t dabbled in months. Come to think of it, last night he’d spent a good hour with his head buried in a landscaping book—another interest that had died along with Laura. Had the gambling fiasco nudged him toward less reckless pastimes?

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  Her heart swelled as she took in his rumpled appearance, his kind eyes, and concerned expression. Archie Mooney, in spite of his recent missteps, was the best of souls. Tough love. Swallowing hard, Bella smiled. “Just rushed,” she said while hooking her messenger bag over the back of a chair. “I’m committing a few neighborly hours to Savage tonight. Remember? Renovations?”

  “I remember. About that—”

  “Sun sets around eight-thirty so I want to make the most of the daylight.”

  “You put in eight hours at the library.”

  “And boy, could I use some fresh air. I’m changing my clothes and heading straight over. You’ll have to fend for yourself for dinner,” she said as she blew up the stairs. “The fridge and pantry are stocked,” she yelled over her shoulder.

  “Or,” she said to herself as she breezed into her bedroom. “You can order in or go out.” Which meant she should leave him the truck. In case he wanted to grab dinner at Café Caboose or Desi’s. If he decided to have a beer with friends after…if he drank too much, if he gambled too much—that was on him. Trusting her dad to make his own choices, the right choices, was crucial. Angel was right. Archie Mooney was capable of pulling himself up by the bootstraps. He just needed more incentive.

  Adrenaline rushing, Bella fired up her laptop while changing out of her capris and polo and into a purple tee and her faded baggy overalls. She laced up her sneakers then logged into her e
mail. She clicked on the note from datawiz@ImpossibleDream.com.

  Joe Savage… Nowhere, Nebraska… Custom Artist… Sense of humor, generous heart, optimist, hard worker, kid friendly…Cannot verify magical kisser

  Bella felt as blindsided now as she had when she’d first read the note on her phone. It couldn’t be the same Joe Savage. Dark and broody wasn’t an artist. Was he? He didn’t possess her ideal qualities. Did he?

  Impossible Dream offers the most likely prospects based on data, research, and ID-tuition. (whatever that was) It’s up to the applicant to follow through. We provide the magic. You provide the derring-do. True passion and faith required. Patience recommended.

  She had passion and faith, but derring-do?

  She typed the unfamiliar word into Webster’s Dictionary online.

  Derring-do…brave acts: behavior that requires courage.

  Bella grinned, tucking derring-do into her personal word file for future story use.

  She signed off the Internet, still unconvinced that ID’s Joe Savage was her Joe Savage. Then again, it was the bizarre stuff of fairy tales.

  I’m desperate for something good to happen. Something unexpected and magical.

  What if this was it?

  She flew down the stairs. “I’ll take my bike,” she said as she breezed into the living room. “When I’m done at Savage’s, I’m pedaling over to Angel’s. I’m staying overnight and plan on spending most of tomorrow at the Arts and Fiddler Festival with her and the girls. Will I see you there?” Bella asked, expecting a “no” because of the quilt show. Her mom had been a longtime member of the local quilting club and this was one of their biggest and brightest showcases. Only this year, Laura wouldn’t be there.

  “I doubt it,” he said.

  Which was as good as no. Forcing herself not to press or coddle, Bella glanced at her watch. “Gotta fly.”